


How the Riddler Hid his Name

by knightinpinkunderwear



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e15 How the Riddler Got His Name, Feelings, Guilt, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prison, Reformed Edward Nygma, Regret, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, Talking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 10:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17558381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinpinkunderwear/pseuds/knightinpinkunderwear
Summary: @edwardnashtons requested: an AU where Lucius stops Ed from knocking him out in the car in 3x15 and convinces Ed to come home with him so they can talk, but then Ed keeps coming over and it becomes more





	How the Riddler Hid his Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freckledandspectacled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledandspectacled/gifts).



“My actions seem...  _ mad _ to you?” And there it was again, the vulnerability. The glimpse of a man who was scared of what he was doing, a man that was lost and confused and hurting. A glimpse of sanity. 

“To anyone.”

“I-” he cut himself off, squeezing his eye shut as it blinking back tears, the gun was shaking in his hand. He swallowed, as if trying to push down a lump of sorrow in his throat. He was leaning close again. “I just...killed the best friend I have ever had.” His face was a mixture of anger and pain. Again, he was being so honest, almost like the smallest bit of him was sane and wanted help. Wanted comfort. “My search for a teacher or an enemy…” his eyes were unfocused not really looking anywhere, he was still using the gun to gesture around as if it weren’t a loaded weapon ready to kill yet another person. He looked lost, and almost small. “...that was just me trying to hold onto him for a little bit longer.” Now he met Lucius’ eyes again, brows furrowed up, mouth in a frown, and this desperation in his eyes. He wanted to be understood. To be listened to. “But now I know who I am…” the expressions were bleeding into his voice now, he sounded lost, unsure. “-without him.” These words came the harshest. Still bitter, still angry and hurt. He gave a little smile to try and further convince Lucius of this, that he  _ was _ sure, that he wasn’t lost or afraid or hurt. 

Now, Lucius had two options; play along with the insanity or try to reach for that little piece that keeps calling for help. 

“Ed, who you are…”every time Lucius spoke the man’s name he lowered the gun, his posture would morph from threatening to eager, he’d lean in and  _ listen.  _ This time was no different, he watched Lucius with wide eyes, waiting for whatever he had to say. “It’s not based on Penguin, it never was. It wasn’t based on Kristen Kringle either. You don’t have to change because someone you care about is gone.” With each word, Lucius spoke Edward Nygma seemed to let go more of that false cheer and bravado. He showed himself, the vulnerability. “Ed, I know you probably won’t turn yourself in, but please, you need help.” Lucius knew that the man in front of him had heard that phrase many times, he tried to make it sound gentle. Because he really hoped Nygma would get the help he needed, he did want him to recover and reform. “You’re hurting yourself by doing this, aren’t you?” And that's what did it. His eyes were teary now, he looked small, ridiculous as it seemed. His eyes dropped down, so did the gun. With tight lips, he gave a little nod. 

“What am I even doing here-?”

“Ed,-” the man paused, looking up, eyes still wet. “-how about I drive home and we can talk over coffee?” 

“That sounds nice.” He conceded, grateful that Lucius had interrupted his attempt to pass off the whole interaction and escape from what he was feeling. 

They talked a little more during the drive. Edward even tucked the gun into the back of his belt. He stayed with Lucius until 11:37 pm. Talking, not all of it was important but every word mattered in some way. Lucius learned much about him. That he  _ couldn’t _ turn himself in because he was terrified of being locked up and isolated with his own thoughts or locked in rooms with violent cannibals. Lucius was starting to believe that Arkham really should have stayed closed down. 

Edward never shared the reason why he killed Penguin, though he seemed so sad and hurt when the man was brought up. He seemed to regret killing him, and then get more upset because he regretted regretting it. 

The next time he saw Edward Nygma is about 8 days later. 

He’s manic and looks like he hasn’t eaten or slept in days. It seemed like he’s on edge, he’ll flinch in silence when Lucius is nowhere near him and sitting still. He shouts in response to gentle questions, he rambled, he didn’t know the date or time. He’s confused and hectic and on edge, interpreting everything as antagonistic and is defensive in turn. Lucius is almost glad when he left, it was exhausting to try and talk him down  _ and _ get him to drink a little water and eat some yogurt. 

It becomes a habit, eventually, Edward even shares the location of his ‘hideout’. There’s a disco ball, old furniture, and cheap fakes of classic paintings. It’s rehearsed cheer hiding depression and further maladies of its owner’s mind. That much is even more obvious when Edward breaks down, telling Lucius about the people’s whose lives ended at his hands. He had gathered information about their families and childhoods, their studies, their hobbies. This was where he couldn’t agree with the precinct;

Edward was not a cold-blooded killer. 

He was a killer, yes. 

But the reason he didn’t seem to care was that he simply didn’t let himself, he tried to bottle it up. And the more Lucius learned, the more it became apparent that Edward was quite accustomed to bottling up things and pushing them far down where he didn’t have to acknowledge them. 

But he cared about the lives he’d ended. He cared for the loss the had created, all the thoughts they’d never think, all the memories lost, all the accomplishments they’d never achieve. He sobbed as he obsessively spoke of boy scout honors a man had earned two decades ago. 

Edward confessed to killing his girlfriend, the past records keeper at the GCPD. He was inconsolable. He wouldn’t let Lucius get close enough to touch him. Only far enough as the ratty couch allowed. His snot and tear streaked face looked so lost in the dancing light of the discoball. Lucius was sure he was the only one who Edward told about Kristen’s death. In the trial he’d said nothing, now, he spilled all. About how he revealed that he had killed her abusive boyfriend in an act of self-defense and heroism to protect her from further abuse. How scared he’d been when she’d started shouting at him, how he swore he  _ didn’t know  _ his fingers were wrapped around her throat. He just wanted her to know she was safe with him. 

How cruel. 

It seemed there was only one death Edward did not feel remorse for. 

Officer Dougherty. He was the abuser. Lucius couldn’t help but think about what that meant. And as much as he tried to stop it, his heart ached in sympathy. 

Lucius wished he could just care a little less. Edward was a killer. 

He’d killed 19 people. Lucius listened as he listed their names, addresses, jobs, family members, and childhood accomplishments. Yet, Lucius still cared, because Edward was hurting. 

He had too much sympathy for the man, maybe it was their shared interest in chemistry and desire for intellectual discussion and appreciation of their intellects. Maybe it was because he could see his younger self in the way that Edward struggled to communicate or order his thoughts and feelings in a way that others could even begin to understand. 

Maybe it was because he’d been at the man’s apartment when he had come to help take down Galavan. Maybe it was because some part of him believed he could have prevented Edward from slipping further. 

But then he’d remind himself, Edward had already killed four people. 

He knew the man was a killer. 

But it was so hard to think of that and distance himself from the poor man trying to get the words in him to stumble out between the harsh breaths and barely choked back sobs. 

The night ends with him breaking down Edward’s barriers enough for touch. He held the man’s hand gently, wishing that he could give up this quest. Wishing that moments like these weren’t what made him feel like he deserved the blessing of life. Wishing he could care less, wishing he could feel like he wasn’t undeserving of life, like he was somehow letting someone down or not being enough. It was moments like these where he wished he could carry the pain of the entire world just so that he wouldn’t feel guilty about not preventing everyone else’s maladies and misfortunes. 

“Back at the GCPD, before it all, I wanted to die…” Lucius doesn’t know how to respond to this, he’s never known how to respond to it, no matter who it is that tells this to him. He, himself briefly thought about death in his youth, about causing it. But he’d snapped out of it, thrown himself into coping mechanisms that were proving to be unhealthy. “I  _ should have _ done it.” Edward sounds so aggressive in his despair. “19 people would still be alive, 18 good people would still be around.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t kill yourself, Ed.” Edward turns to look at him, eyes red from the tears that had been falling for hours, pain deeply embedded into every stroke of colour in his irises and the shiny darkness of his pupils. He looks distraught, in pain, maybe even angry. And just beyond that, there was a tiny spark, a speckle really, of hope. A whisper of someone long-abandoned wanting to believe that someone would care. 

“Why?” 

“I’m glad you didn’t kill yourself Ed, but I am sorry that you didn’t get help, that someone didn’t try to help you,” 

“Why are you?” his faces is quiet now, tired, sad, alone, he looks small. “Why are you trying to help me?” Eyes wet, but no drop brave enough to fall yet. 

“Ed,” he’s hinged on the word, as if being called by his name is respect he’s never been paid, “-you’re a person.” And the tears jump from their perch, one after another. Lucius found his eyes growing wet too, a lump in his throat. It was horrible, and it only made him want to help the man before him more. The man whose shaking hand was still cradled gently in his grip. 

It was horrible.

_ Because Edward Nygma needed to be reminded that he was _ **_a person._ **

 

* * *

 

Lucius should have seen it coming. The attachment. Not his per se, he’d already known about that, it was nothing new. But, Edward getting attached to him was different. And he was constantly battling over whether or not it was healthy to allow a person who was functionally trying to reshape himself into a law-abiding citizen to become infatuated with him. Was he somehow taking advantage of Ed?

Was he using his position of power over Ed to manipulate him into this or-?

He doesn’t make a decision on the morality of his little crush before Ed confesses. 

“I’m going to get help,  _ not  _ Arkham... I’ve looked into correctional facilities outside of Gotham.” It's a goodbye, and as much as Lucius is happy that Ed is finally getting help, he can’t help a selfish ache in his heart. 

He doesn’t want Ed to leave.

“Could you visit me?” and the ache is gone. “I really like your company, and I don’t want to  _ not  _ see you,”

“I’ll be there,” Lucius confirms, his smile reflecting back at him slowly, piece by piece as the corners of Ed’s mouth turned up. “Would you like me to drive you?”

“That would be nice.”

The drive is quiet, pleasant. Peaceful. Only a little tension. Mostly Lucius is happy that Ed is willing to pursue real help, and Ed seems to be happy to just be near him. It takes one hour forty-three minutes and twenty-seven seconds to get there. Before they walk in Ed stops him.

“Can I kiss you?” Lucius nods. 

Ed’s lips are trembling and delicately forceful. It’s nice. It’s sad. 

He stays with Ed throughout the check-in process. He learns the visitor schedule and Ed’s inmate number and assigned cell. The building is much nicer than Arkham, it’s clean, well lit, and the staff all seem to be decent. When he says goodbye he feels like he’s leaving a bit of himself behind, which is silly, he is not incomplete without Edward Nygma. 

But maybe he just likes having him there, to care for, and worry for, and to motivate him to take care of himself.

 

* * *

 

He visits bi-weekly. Tuesdays and Thursdays. Captain Barnes doesn’t like that he takes off early those days, even if he works overtime every other day of the week. Lucius doesn’t really care what the Captain thinks about it. He won’t let Ed down. Ed loves their time together, and Lucius will not miss it for the world. 

Each visit Ed looks...well not every day he looks better, there are bad days, bad weeks, but generally speaking, he looks better. His eyes are clearer and he is getting treatment for his hallucinations and other maladies. He gets conversation therapy almost daily and is benefiting from the atmosphere and activities found in the facility. The place is what Arkham should be, less of a prison and more of a hospital to help it’s detainees rather than let them stew and attack each other. 

Lucius has a brief scare when the Penguin returned. The man showed up at Ed’s penitentiary. Ed was a little on edge when Lucius came in, he’d only realized the mobster had come to pay Ed a visit when he ran into the man himself in the Lobby. 

“I don’t know what you did to him.” the Penguin seethed, “But thanks to you I have to let his crimes go unpunished.”

Lucius doesn’t respond, the man won’t listen to him anyway. 

Ed looks a little bit smaller than, his eyes a little bloodshot. But he brightens and grows to his normal size as soon as he sees Lucius, his spine straightening and his eyes brightening in a wonderful and mesmerizing way. 

“I’m glad he’s okay,”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m better now that you’re here,” Ed says, a little sniffle, but his voice and eyes full of clarity as his hands clasp Lucius’. 

“I’m not going to leave you here, I promised.” He couldn’t push down the smile if he tried, not that he would want to now, or ever again.

“I love you,” 

“I love you too.” Lucius has learned so much about Edward Nygma since that night when the man put a gun on him in his own car after tricking him into thinking he'd poisoned a room full of Police Academy Grads. He'd learned of Ed's past: the Nashtons, Dougherty and Kringle, a girl in Ed's 2nd grade class, he'd learned of Ed's studies and interests. He learned that Ed loved Tchiacoffski's Sleeping Beauty and watching forensic case files. He learned the way he smiled and the way he laughed. 

All becuase he wouldn't let Ed take a new name that night. He didn't allow "the riddler" as Ed confessed later, to take over and hide Ed Nygma. 

 


End file.
